


Asylum

by AmberBrown



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24351025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberBrown/pseuds/AmberBrown
Summary: Porthos and Aramis wake up in a cold damp cell with no idea how they got there. Will their friends find them?
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a one-shot I wrote in 2017 and uploaded to FF. Net. I have completely re-written.  
> I hope you enjoy it.

Porthos drained his cup as he watched Aramis make his way towards the bar. The crowded tavern was lively. The landlord would be making a lot of money that night.

Several local tradesmen were celebrating something. They were being particularly loud and raucous. Porthos watched a couple of them push themselves up to unsteadily stand and make their way to the bar. The two men knocked into a couple of tables on the way, causing a few of the other customers to remonstrate with them. The inebriated men waved the complaints away. They were both big men and probably knew the people they had annoyed would not go any further than to verbally have a go at them. 

Porthos left the tradesmen to their stumbled walk to the bar and continued to scan the room. His gaze falling on a couple of men sat in the far corner of the room. The two men were watching him with occasional glances at the bar area. Porthos tried to work out if he recognised the men or not. They appeared to know him. Or they were interested in his uniform. It was true that some men were wary of soldiers. Porthos wondered what the men might have done to make them concerned about being near a couple of Musketeers. Some nefarious plan that could be ruined if two Musketeers took too much interest in them. 

The men were wearing relatively good clothing, but they had the look of having done a day's work. They looked as though they needed the drinks, they were nursing rather than wanted them. Porthos wondered if their nefarious deeds had already been interfered with by some soldiers and the two men were out to wreak a little revenge. Porthos decided he would point them out to Aramis when he got back from the bar. The chances were if they made it obvious, they had seen the two men taking an interest in them they would change their mind about a surprise attack. Porthos was in no mood for a fight that night. 

A shout from the bar distracted Porthos from his thoughts. As he looked back to the group of people waiting to be served Aramis was busy trying to placate one of the drunk tradesmen. The man had an obvious damp stain on the front of his gillet. Porthos guessed the tradesman and Aramis had bumped into each other and a drink had been spilt. It looked as though Aramis was offering to replace the drink, probably in an attempt to keep the peace. Porthos doubted Aramis was the one at fault despite being blamed by the tradesman.

As the landlord was pouring a replacement drink one of the other tradesmen grabbed Aramis from behind and propelled him into a post with enough speed and force that Aramis did not have time to react. His friend smacked into the post hitting his head hard before crumpling to the ground.

Porthos was out of his seat in a second. He rushed forward, pushing people aside as he went. He shoved the tradesmen out of the way in his hurry to reach his injured friend.

The situation quickly deteriorated further for Porthos as the rest of the tradesmen pushed their way through the patrons. As Porthos tried to get control of the situation he was grabbed around the neck by a firm, muscled arm. The man who had grabbed him was easily Porthos' height and strength. Under normal circumstances, Porthos would have been able to throw the man off his back. But in the crowded tavern, there was no room to manoeuvre, he was being grabbed seemingly from all sides. When the man that had pushed Aramis stepped up to help, Porthos knew he was going to struggle to get any kind of control back.

The man holding him from behind squeezed his arm. The man in front of him punched him a couple of times, a gleeful glint in his eyes.

Porthos was struggling to take a breath, the grey edges of his vision became wider and threatened to consume him.

As his world faded to black, Porthos sent out an apology to his unconscious friend.

MMMM

Aramis became aware with confusion. He knew he was not in his own bed or any bed. The ground underneath him was hard and rough. Stone. He flexed his fingers slightly feeling grit and dirt being dislodged. There was a dank smell. He was inside. He was not wearing his doublet and he could not feel his weapons belts, the familiar weight missing. He was lying on his side with his head resting on the rough stone. 

His head hurt.

Aramis tried to piece together what might have happened to leave him lying on a stone floor with an aching head. A few images started to form up in his mind. The busy tavern. Losing a bet to Porthos to decide who would battle their way to the bar for the next bottle of wine. Being knocked into by the big tradesman who stank of wine and sweat. 

Then nothing.

He held his breath for a few seconds listening intently. He could hear something off in the distance, a whimper or cry of pain. Perhaps not just one. Something else in the distance, a metallic clang. The noises did not make sense. Closer to him he could make out someone breathing steadily. Although the breaths being taken were a little laboured, a slight catch to them. Whoever was breathing was suffering with each breath. But they were steady, so the suffering was probably not life-threatening. 

Deciding he had found out all he would with his eyes still shut, Aramis slowly opened them. 

He was indeed lying on a stone floor. The floor was littered with detritus, bits of chipped stone, straw and things he did not want to contemplate. A door loomed above him. The door was solid with a small barred window at head height. A dirty looking wooden bucket sat next to the door. Aramis slowly moved his head in deference to his headache. He could not make out any other openings into the room. Flames flickered outside the room, spilling through the small window enough to offer some dim light to his grim surroundings. 

The laboured breathing was behind him. He slowly turned onto his back and looked across the room, which could only be described as a cell. 

Porthos was lying on his back a few feet away. He was similarly missing his doublet and weapons. His shirt was rucked up a little and grubby. Aramis suspected his shirt was much the same. Aramis could not see any obvious injuries to his friend, but something had to be causing Porthos to be struggling with uncomfortable breaths. 

Slowly, Aramis pulled his knees up and rolled onto his front and finally pushed up to his hands and knees. He did not want to try standing at that moment. The dizziness that had washed over him was not something he thought he could cope with if he were fully upright. He crawled across to his friend. 

Porthos did not stir. 

The cause of the laboured breathing was obvious when Aramis looked his friend over. Porthos had bruising around his neck. The mottled reds and purples around Porthos’ neck looked uncomfortable. Someone had made a concerted effort to cause his friend harm. Aramis wondered if whoever that had been was also responsible for them both being shut in a cell.

Aramis lay his hand on Porthos shoulder, he gently shook the unconscious man but got no reaction. Porthos was breathing steadily and did not appear to have any other injuries. Aramis decided he could be left for the time being. 

Using the wall as an anchor Aramis began to pull himself up to stand. He took his time, not wanting to waver or simply fall back down. The ache in his head had slowly receded the longer he had been awake, but he was no fool, he knew if he tried to do anything too quickly, he would not be rewarded. 

Once upright he looked around the small cell. They were the only occupants other than a couple of rats that had managed to squeeze through a small hole in the corner. The rats were not interested in them, so Aramis did not see the need to bother them. Two tatty blankets were pushed up against the wall in another corner. Aramis realised he was shivering. He had not noticed the cold until he had seen the blankets. He shook them out, straw and rat droppings fell to the floor. Trying not to think about the filth Aramis wrapped one of the blankets around his shoulders before lying the other over his unconscious brother. 

The heavy-looking door was Aramis’ next target for investigation. 

Moving with more ease than when he had first woken up, Aramis stood in front of the door. There was no obvious means of keeping it shut on his side. Aramis guessed there were bolts on the outside or a padlock. He stepped up to the small window and peered out. 

All he could see was a stone wall a few yards opposite him. Sconces holding flaming torches lined the corridor on the far wall. 

‘Hello.’

His voice echoed a little along the corridor. Aramis listened intently for a few seconds. The whimpered cries he had heard when he first woke up started again. They were too far away to understand. No other sound reached him. 

Aramis went back to looking directly across the corridor. There was a hook with something hanging from it. Leather straps with metal loops linking the straps together. Aramis stared at the straps for several seconds trying to dismiss the thought that had come to the front of his mind. 

At first, he had guessed they were in the Chatelet. Perhaps they had been in a fight and the Red Guard had found them and locked them up in order to humiliate them. Aramis had initially expected to be released by an irate Captain Treville. It would not have been the first time their Captain had been forced to free one of his men after they had imbibed too much wine. 

But the more Aramis stared at what he knew was a restraint on the opposite wall, the more he dismissed the idea that they were in the Chatelet. And the more Aramis came to accept where they actually were the more worried, he became that they would not be easily liberated. 

Aramis was sure they had been locked up in the asylum.

MMMM

Porthos tried to swallow but struggled, the feeling of his throat being closed up caused him to panic. Porthos was not a man prone to panicking. But not being able to breath properly was something worth panicking about. 

He opened his eyes wide as he coughed a couple of times, taking gasping breaths in between. 

‘Porthos; calm down.’

Aramis had spoken firmly. Porthos managed to focus on his friend who was looming over him, hands on his shoulders pinning him to the ground, forcing him to stop moving about. 

‘You’ve been unconscious. You can breathe, just be calm. And don’t try to speak.’

Aramis looked at him intently. Porthos stared back as he made a concerted effort to slow his breathing. Aramis switched from pinning him down to helping him to sit up. 

Porthos blinked a few times as he looked around, his eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light. Once he was steady, Aramis let him go and pulled a tatty blanket that had been covering his legs off and wrapped it around his shoulders. 

Porthos looked down at himself and noted he was missing his doublet and weapons. He looked at the stone floor before looking around. He focused on Aramis who was similarly missing his doublet and weapons. His friend was tugging an equally tatty, dirty, blanket tighter around his shoulders.

‘Do you remember what happened?’ asked Aramis before quickly shaking his head. ‘No. Don’t speak.’

Aramis sighed. Porthos could see the bruises on his friends face where he had been knocked out in the tavern. Porthos wondered how long ago that had been. He could remember being strangled by one of the tradesmen.

‘I remember getting into an argument with someone in the tavern,’ said Aramis. ‘Did we get into a fight?’

Porthos nodded and reached up to his neck, Aramis stopped him from touching his throat.

‘You’re bruised. I doubt you’d manage more than a strained whisper at the moment so save yourself. How we got here is not as important as how we’re going to get out. Porthos, this isn’t the Chatelet.’

Porthos looked around, he did not recognise where they were. Aramis could have been mistaken; they could have been locked up in a little-used area of the prison. Although Porthos doubted there were any little-used areas of the forbidding place. 

‘I think we’re in the asylum,’ said Aramis. ‘Outside, hanging up, there are some of those horrible restraints that keep a man in the same position all the time. I think it’s so that he cannot hurt himself…’ he trailed off looking at the door for a few seconds before looking back at him. ‘No one’s going to think to search for us here.’

Porthos looked at Aramis and saw the worry in his friend's eyes. He thought through the implications of being in the asylum. Whoever had locked them up could tell people that they were mad and not to believe anything they said. It was a clever way to keep someone who should not have been locked up incarcerated. Whoever had put them in the cell meant for them to remain there.

‘Guards?’

Porthos’ could not put any power behind the whispered word, his throat felt as though it was on fire just from the effort of the one whispered word.

‘Shh,’ admonished Aramis with a hand laid gently on his arm. ‘I’ve not seen anyone yet. But we… I…’ he corrected himself, ‘will have to try to reason with them. Someone must know who we are. If we can get word to the garrison…’ Aramis trailed off again with another almost despondent sigh.

Porthos did not like to contemplate what was happening to them both. He wondered what they had done to deserve the treatment they had received. 

A loud clang had both Musketeers look at each other before looking towards the door. 

Aramis scrambled to his feet, swaying for a couple of seconds before reaching out his arm to help Porthos up. Porthos wondered how much the knock to the head was still affecting his brother. Aramis seemed to be focused but could have been masking the discomfort for his benefit. 

The sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor outside of their cell. Aramis reached the door and peered out. 

‘Why have we been brought here?’ he demanded. 

Porthos managed to get a glimpse through the small barred window. The man on the other side was hidden, the light behind him casting darkness over his features. 

‘Shut up. Get back from the door,’ the man said with disinterest. 

‘We shouldn’t be here,’ said Aramis who did not move away from the door.

‘Do you want food and water?’ asked the man. ‘Move away from the door or you ain’t getting anything.’

‘We’re Musketeers-’

‘Of course, you are, now shift out of the way.’

Aramis stepped closer to the door wrapping his fingers around the bars of the window to show the man on the other side he had no intention of stepping back.

‘Don’t you want your food?’

‘We want you to speak to our Captain.’

‘Yeah,’ said the man with irritation. ‘I’ve not heard that kind of plea before. You’ve got one more chance to get out of the way or you can go hungry.’

Aramis did not move.

‘Why are we here? We’re clearly not mad.’

‘You’re bloody irritating though,’ said the man.

Porthos could see the man step closer to the bars for a few seconds, he could still not make out the man’s features. Aramis and the man stared at each other for a few seconds before the man stepped back quickly. 

When Aramis yelled in pain and stumbled back from the door clutching at his right hand, it Porthos took a few seconds to work out what had happened. 

‘When I tell you to get away from the door. I mean it,’ shouted the man through the barred window, his cosh held against the bars.

Porthos realised the man had struck Aramis’ hand where he had wrapped his fingers around the bars of the window. Without thinking, Porthos stepped up to the door and thumped it. The man on the other side looked at him for a couple of seconds before laughing and walking away. His steps echoing again in the otherwise empty corridor.

Fast breathing drew Porthos back to Aramis. His friend had stumbled to the back of the cell and was leaning against the wall, clutching his right hand close to his chest, his eyes screwed shut. Porthos could well imagine the waves of pain that would have been coursing through his brother's body radiating out from his hand.

Porthos returned his brother's early favour and held Aramis by the shoulders for several seconds helping to steady him. As Aramis managed to get control of his breathing Pothos pushed him to the floor.

He gently prised Aramis’ right hand away from his chest and did his best to assess the damage. Even in the dim light, Porthos could see that Aramis had paled significantly. His friend had managed to open his eyes again and was looking at his hand. Porthos held out his hand and opened and closed his fingers. Aramis understood and slowly did the same things.

‘Not broken,’ Aramis managed to say, the relief in his voice palpable. 

Porthos could understand his friends' worry if his fingers had been broken the assault could have ended his life as a soldier. Without being able to fire a gun or wield a sword what good would Aramis have been to the Musketeers. 

The fingers may not have been broken but it was clear Aramis was going to be in pain for some time, bruises were already showing across each digit. And there was nothing they could do to alleviate the pain.

‘Sorry,’ said Aramis after a few more seconds. 

Porthos looked at him and shook his head, not understanding.

‘I might have made it worse.’

Porthos squeezed Aramis’ shoulder, he wished he could placate his friend properly but knew without his voice he could not offer any proper reassurance. Although Aramis was correct, he might have made their situation worse by annoying the guard. Aramis shivered. Porthos collected the blankets that had been discarded on the dirty floor. He draped one around his friend's shoulders before wrapping the other around himself. He settled on the floor next to Aramis opposite the door. 

There was little they could do but wait. Although Porthos did not know what for.

MMMM

Treville looked at Athos and d’Artagnan for a few seconds before raising his eyebrows. He did not need to ask the question.

‘The last I saw them they were heading to the tavern,’ said d’Artagnan. 

Athos nodded his agreement.

Treville sighed, ‘check their room. Then anywhere they might have ended up.’

Athos knew there was probably a simple explanation. Although both men would be in trouble for missing muster and their duty at the Palace. The four of them had been due to stand guard duty for the day. When neither Aramis or Porthos were present at muster Treville had glared at Athos for several seconds until Athos had indicated he knew no more than the Captain did. 

Treville walked back to his office leaving Athos and d’Artagnan alone at the bottom of the steps. 

‘They are going to be mucking out the stables for a week,’ said d’Artagnan, ‘they know we’re short on men at the moment.’

Athos nodded, ‘which is why I am concerned there might be more to this.’

‘You think something might have happened to them?’

Athos nodded, ‘I know that we all occasionally let the time run away with us, but they are both conscientious enough to not want to let Treville down.’

They walked towards the sleeping quarters, reaching the door to their friend's room. Athos pushed the door open. The room was empty with no sign that their missing brothers had been there since the day before. The beds were untouched, and nothing appeared out of place in the sparsely furnished room.

‘Let’s try the tavern,’ said d’Artagnan. ‘We’ll have to try and retrace their steps.’

MMMM

Aramis stared at his hand, the bruises where the guard had struck him with his cosh were black and blue across each finger. He flexed the digits again, they were already stiff, his whole hand hurt and had swollen up. It would be days before he could properly use it again. But his fingers were not broken. The thought of what he would be left with had they been broken in such a way that they did not heal correctly was not something he wanted to contemplate. 

The clank of the door or gate at the end of the empty corridor made him look up. Porthos was already climbing to his feet with a gesture for him to stay where he was. Ignoring his friend Aramis eased himself up to stand but did stay by the wall, having no inclination to get too close to the guard and his cosh again. 

Porthos cautiously approached the door but kept far enough from the window so as not to annoy the guard. Porthos was still unable to speak properly which was probably a good thing.

‘Keep back,’ said the guard, ‘this is your last chance. If you don’t, we’ll force feed you both. And trust me that ain’t a pretty sight.’

Porthos stepped back a little.

‘Good lad,’ said the guard, his tone patronising, ‘your mate there should follow your example.’

They heard a bolt being drawn back, but instead of the door being opened a small flap of wood was lifted at the base of the door. Aramis had not noticed the hinged section. The open flap was far too small for either of them to crawl through or even to try to reach the main lock on the door. A dirty hand pushed a cup of water and a hunk of bread through the gap. The flap was pushed back down, and the bolt could be heard being slid back in place. 

‘We’ll be back for the cup and the bucket in a few hours. When we open the door, you are both to stay back. If you attempt to come near us or talk to us, you’ll regret it. And trust me, they’ll be far more of us than you can deal with.’

To underline his point the man smashed his cosh against the door several times, the noise reverberating along the corridor causing a few moans and cries from somewhere else in the bleak building. 

Neither Musketeer moved until they heard the guard retreating along the corridor. Porthos scooped up the bread and the cup. He looked at both, pulling a disapproving face. After sniffing the contents of the cup, he took a couple of sips, wincing each time he swallowed, before holding it out to Aramis. Aramis took the cup with his left hand and drank some of the cool water.

‘You take the rest,’ he said handing it back to Porthos, ‘you might need it to help wash that wholesome looking bread down.’

Porthos pointed to the floor, Aramis retook his place by the wall as Porthos joined him. After carefully setting the precious water down he lifted the bread. The stale, slightly mouldy, the bread did not look appetising at all. Porthos pulled it into two pieces before handing one to Aramis who looked at it for a few seconds.

‘I suppose we will have to make do,’ he said.

They ate the bread slowly. Aramis was aware that Porthos was pulling small bits off and was struggling to swallow them. He wished they had been given more water, his friend was obviously in pain each time he swallowed the dry, stale, bread.

‘When they come in the morning,’ said Aramis. ‘We should rush them. Do what we can to escape. Even if only one of us gets out they can get help for the other.’

Porthos nodded.

‘You could annoy them again,’ he whispered, ‘cause a distraction.’

Aramis chuckled, ‘it’s a skill I have perfected over the years.’

He leaned his head back and shut his eyes, the ache in his head had become progressively worse. He knew he had enjoyed a surge of energy when he had been injured but the pain in his hand and his head was starting to catch up with him again.

He felt himself being shaken. He opened his eyes to find Porthos looking at him with concern. Aramis wondered how long he had been asleep for or if he had passed out for a while. Either way, he had obviously worried his brother enough for him to need to wake him. 

Porthos was pointing at the corner of the room. Aramis looked through the gloom. He realised Porthos had gathered the scattered bits of straw and pushed them into the corner. Aramis looked up at Porthos who was holding his hand out to help him up. He allowed his friend to pull him up to stand and followed him to the corner. Porthos settled himself on the straw and wrapped one of the tatty blankets around his shoulders but left enough free to one side. Aramis understood. 

‘At least no one will see us I suppose,’ said Aramis as he settled himself next to his friend and allowed him to put his arm around his shoulders wrapping the blanket around them both. 

Aramis spread the second blanket across their legs as best he could with his left hand. He had to admit to feeling warmer within seconds. He had not realised how cold he had become sitting on the stone floor. The straw acted as a thin barrier between them and the stones and the shared body heat meant they could maintain some semblance of warmth.

Aramis hoped they would be alert enough when the guards returned to escape the horrible place, they had been left in.

MMMM

D’Artagnan swept his gaze across the tavern. It was quiet but the stuffy room had been busy the night before. A couple of women were busy sweeping and mopping, wiping down tables and collecting discarded cups and bottles. 

‘There’s no food yet,’ said the landlord as they walked towards the bar. 

‘We are not here for food,’ said Athos. ‘We are here for information.’

The ageing landlord looked at them both, his thinning hair getting blown about each time someone opened the door.

‘We want to know if you remember serving two Musketeers yesterday evening,’ continued Athos in that commanding tone he had.

The landlord nodded but did not respond. 

Athos straightened up and looked the man squarely in the eyes, ‘we are the King’s Musketeers.’

The man rolled his eyes and sneered for a couple of seconds.

‘The dark one and the one that flirts with my girls,’ his statement was almost derogatory. 

Athos nodded.

‘Yeah they were here,’ the landlord said. ‘They got in a fight with some of the stonemasons. I had them chucked out.’

D’Artagnan stepped forward, ‘what state were they in when you asked them to leave,’ he said.

The landlord smirked, ‘unconscious.’

D’Artagnan was aware of Athos taking a long deep breath as he tried to maintain his outward calm. 

‘What happened to them?’

The landlord chuckled, ‘I don’t know. I got a couple of the stonemasons to dump them in the street. Not my fault if they’re no good at fighting.’

The man was very sarcastic in his tone, d’Artagnan could see Athos fisting his hands. He stepped forward again. 

‘Where were they left?’

The landlord nodded towards the side of the tavern, ‘down that alleyway, they probably woke up with headaches and slunk off back to the garrison.’

Athos turned away from the unhelpful landlord and made his way to the door. D'Artagnan paused before following him. 

‘Thank you for your time,’ he said with sarcasm. 

The landlord tutted and went back to polishing his bar with the dirty rag he had tossed aside when they had initially approached him. 

D’Artagnan found Athos at the side of the tavern looking at the ground and the crates that were along the outside of the building. 

‘Nothing to indicate they were even here,’ he said after peering behind the crates and studying the cobbles for a few seconds. 

D’Artagnan had spotted a small boy watching them from under a collection of sacks on the other side of the alleyway. He slowly approached the boy and crouched down. He was aware of Athos following him, but his friend kept back far enough to not crowd the boy. 

‘Did you see two soldiers here last night?’ asked d’Artagnan.

The floppy-haired boy looked at him, the smudges of dirt across his face not hiding how pale he was. The boy's eyes flicked up to Athos who was holding out a few coins to d'Artagnan. He took the coins and held them up in front of the boy whose eyes widened.

‘I seen ‘em,’ he said. ‘They was dead. They was picked up and carried away.’

‘Who carried them away?’

The little boy sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve, his eyes never leaving the coins that d’Artagnan was still holding up.

‘The men.’

‘Which men? What did they look like?’

‘They worked where me ma got took.’

‘Where is that?’

‘The sylum.’

‘Sylum?’ 

‘Me ma was mad.’

‘He means the asylum,’ said Athos.

D’Artagnan dropped the coins into the boy's small, dirty, hand. The boy clutched the coins to his chest, watching the soldiers warily. D’Artagnan backed away and turned to look at Athos. 

Athos looked, understandably, annoyed, ‘why would they be taken there?’

D’Artagnan shrugged, ‘but at least we have an idea where they are… and if they were dead, I doubt that is where they would have been taken.’

MMMM

Porthos formed plans and strategies for their escape in his head. He went through several scenarios. He settled on a couple and sighed. He knew he did not have the voice to tell Aramis what he had thought of. He could manage a few words, but the effort seemed to make his throat close up. Eating the dry bread had been very uncomfortable, he had not argued when Aramis had suggested he take the majority of the water.

His brother had fallen asleep again or passed out. Porthos could not tell which, but he was breathing steadily, his injured hand resting in his lap. It was oddly comforting in the dank dark cell to be huddled with one of his best friends in the corner. They could not escape the room; he had established that quite early on. 

When Aramis had fallen asleep the first time, Porthos had spent some time looking at the heavy door. Pulling at the bars on the small window and trying to work out how it was locked on the other side. All they could do was hope for a chance to get away from the guards when they came again. He wondered how many guards would arrive when they came to open the door. The guard that had injured Aramis had promised it would be more than they could take on. But he and Aramis were highly trained, and despite their injuries, they could probably do more than the guard thought them capable of. 

Aramis stirred when the familiar metallic clang echoed along the corridor. They pushed themselves up to stand but kept away from the door. They wanted the men to think they were behaving, lull them into a false sense of security and let their guard down. 

The door was unlocked, Porthos heard the twist of a key in a padlock and the sound of two bolts being drawn back. The hinges creaked as the door swung open. Three guards entered all carrying coshes. They were followed by the guard that had brought them the food. 

He sneered at them, ‘I’m glad you’re finally co-operating,’ he said.

Now that Porthos could see the man in better light he realised that he recognised him. The man had been one of the men sitting at the corner table watching him and Aramis when they were in the tavern. 

‘Are you going to tell us why we’re here?’ asked Aramis, taking a step forward. 

Porthos allowed his friend to move, they needed to separate the men out a bit. Porthos knew he could take on two of them and was sure, despite his injured hand, Aramis would be able to deal with the other two, at least for long enough. 

‘You’re in the asylum. You’re clearly a threat to society because you’re mad,’ said the guard. ‘You and that one,’ the guard vaguely gestured at Porthos, ‘you caused some problems.’

‘What problems did we cause?’ asked Aramis.

‘He knows,’ the man looked at Porthos who shook his head. ‘Oh, you do. You and your kind are always causing problems.’

‘His kind,’ repeated Aramis, a dangerous tone seeping into his voice. 

Porthos wanted to stop Aramis but knew his lack of voice would hinder him. He reached out to his friend. One of the other guards swept his cosh forward knocking his arm away, Porthos glared at the man.

‘His sort is always causing us problems,’ continued the first guard. 

Aramis stepped forward again, Porthos knew he had to intervene, he took a step towards the guard that had already used his cosh to push him back. The man looked a little shocked at the move, which amused Porthos for a fraction of a second. His amusement was ended painfully when one of the other guards brought his cosh down across his back, knocking the air from him and sending him crashing to the ground. Porthos was annoyed with himself for not being alert to where all the men were. Aramis had managed to cause a distraction, but he had distracted the wrong man. 

As he tried to get to his feet, he felt the full force of the cosh across his back a second time. He knew it would take him several seconds to get his wits back. He was not badly hurt but had been left gasping which aggravated his already abused neck and throat. All he could do was watch as his friend tried to remonstrate with the guards. 

Aramis pushed the man that had hit him out of the way and tried to move to defend Porthos. Porthos knew it was pointless. The guards were going to have their fun, he wished Aramis would back off, rather than put himself in the line of fire. 

Aramis managed to dodge the first few blows and blocked a couple with his left arm. The first guard swept his cosh low taking out Aramis’ ankles, sending the already injured man to the floor. Aramis was not given a chance to get to his feet or defend himself after that. All Porthos could do was watch as the guards hit his friend with their coshes and kicked him. Aramis resorted to covering his head with his arms. 

When Aramis went limp, clearly unconscious, Porthos expected the men to stop hitting him; they did not. It was not until Porthos managed to get to his knees that the guards stopped and turned to him. 

‘You see what you made us do?’ asked the guard. ‘He needed to be punished for associating with the likes of you.’

Porthos schooled his expression, the last thing he wanted to do was antagonise the men further. They clearly had an issue with him in some way. He could think of several things about him that might annoy the guards, or they did not really have an issue at all but thought they should, something that had happened more times than Porthos would like. People picked on soldiers for no reason other than to make them look impressive in front of their friends. Aramis had paid the price for trying to defend him, probably for nothing. Porthos wished he had his voice, wished he could have stopped his brother. 

The guards filed out of the room, Porthos was vaguely aware of the door being locked again. He shuffled across the room to where his friend lay. It was apparent that Aramis had managed to protect his head from the worst of the beating. He did not appear to have any new bruises to his face and after feeling the back of his head Porthos was satisfied Aramis had not been hit or kicked there. The rest of his brother's body was a different story. His shirt had ridden up during the attack, his chest and back were covered in grazes and marks that were almost certainly bruises where heavy boots had found their target. 

But Aramis was breathing. Porthos laid his hand on his friend's chest for a while to reassure himself of the gentle rise and fall. 

Their situation had not improved. If anything, it was a lot worse.


	2. Chapter 2

Athos stared up at the walls of the asylum which was really nothing short of another prison. The only difference being that the inhabitants probably did not know they were even being held. He had never stepped inside the asylum and wished that he was not about to. The thought that his friends had been incarcerated within the forbidding walls made Athos’ blood run cold. 

It was a perfect place to hide someone away. Whoever had put Aramis and Porthos in the asylum had probably known it would not be high on a list of places that would be searched.

They had walked across the city in silence, both of them fuming at the possibility that their brothers had been mistreated in such a way. From the description, they had been able to get of the actual fight in the tavern their friends had not been at fault and simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why they had been further abused after being removed from the tavern was a mystery. 

Soldiers were attacked, they had all been the victim of random attacks before. Although generally, the attackers were the ones that were left with their pride bruised. 

What Athos hoped was that they would find their friends quickly and unharmed. What Athos hoped and what Athos was going to get were probably not the same thing. 

D’Artagnan, his expression grim, returned from talking to the man on the gate. 

‘He doesn’t know anything about them. He says that they can’t account for every inmate… He was quite unhelpful.’

‘Will he allow us to have a look?’

D’Artagnan shook his head, ‘he says only the governor can allow that, and even then, we’d need a valid reason… or some money.’

Athos rolled his eyes.

‘Apparently, they let people in who pay so that they can look at the inmates. Doctors go to study them and young men go to gawp from the sounds of things.’

‘How much money?’ asked Athos, who was weighing up the few coins he had left in his moneybag.

‘More than that,’ concluded d’Artagnan. ‘The governor seems to turn a profit from the viewings. The guards said that the men that visit are always wealthy.’

Athos sighed, ‘we do not even know for sure if they are in there,’ he said.

‘Well unless you have significantly more money on you, we’re not going to find out any time soon.’

They watched as a middle-aged man wearing plain clothing, but obviously a member of the upper classes, walked up to the doors, he dropped something into the hand of the guard on the door who did not hesitate to open the door and allow the man to enter the building. 

After closing the door again, the guard looked across to them, he grinned and weighed the heavy looking money bag up in his hand.

‘I wonder how much of a cut the guards get?’ mused d’Artagnan. ‘Could we persuade one of them to let us in without the governor knowing?’

‘We should report back to Treville, he may be able to open doors that we cannot.’

MMMM

Aramis moaned, Porthos rested his hand on his friend's chest, both to reassure and restrain. He did not want Aramis to try to move, knowing that the action would only cause his friend more pain. 

He did not know how long Aramis had been unconscious for, his concept of time had gone. The torches in the corridor were not burning as brightly but that did not help. The length of time they could burn for would depend on what they were made of. The guards had not returned, either to mock them or to bring food. 

Porthos had straightened Aramis out and checked him for any more serious injuries than the obvious bruises and grazes. Although it was getting harder to tell what was bruising and what was dirt. They were both filthy, covered in grime and dust and whatever else was littered across the stone floor. Porthos would have liked to wash, he would have liked to have cleaned Aramis up a bit. Instead, they were forced to remain where they were, alone. 

Porthos had tapped on the door a few times, trying to elicit a response from anyone else. He had convinced himself that they were the only ones incarcerated along the corridor. The guards had put them away from the rest of the inpatients. Whatever it was he had done to annoy the guards meant they were getting the luxury of a wing of the asylum to themselves. 

Aramis shifted a little, moving his right hand enough to cause him to gasp in pain. Porthos reached out and gently pushed the wandering hand back down. Aramis was not fully conscious, Porthos was not sure if he wanted his friend to come around or not. It was obvious he would be in a lot of pain, but at the same time, Porthos would not have minded the company. 

He had been alone before after his mother had died, he had spent a lot of time alone before he had found his way into the gangs of children in the Court of Miracles. As a young infantry soldier, he had been left to his own devices a lot of the time. He had tried to make friends but struggled until a couple of the older soldiers saw the potential in him and let him in their little clique. 

Porthos did not like to be alone, to be quiet, he liked company. The thought of spending any length of time incarcerated where he was sent waves of dread through him like spikes being nailed into his soul. 

He wondered again how long they had been in the asylum. 

He wondered how long they would remain there. 

Would they be found? 

Porthos did not want to contemplate the possibility that they were not. 

MMMM

D’Artagnan was struggling to keep up with his Captain. The man was marching purposefully through the crowded streets. The people in the markets were making way for the angry Musketeer Captain. The group of men following him had formed up into twos and were following at pace. 

When d’Artagnan had explained that they were fairly sure Porthos and Aramis had been imprisoned in the asylum it had taken Treville a matter of seconds to organise half a dozen men to accompany them on a visit to the asylum. D’Artagnan was not sure what Treville thought he would accomplish. 

Treville continued to march along, he glanced at d’Artagnan. 

‘And the guard wouldn’t say if they were there or not?’

D’Artagnan shook his head, ‘we’ve only really got the word of a street boy. But with the other bits of information, we got it made sense, sort of.’

‘The fact that the guard did not flat out deny that they were there makes me suspect he knows more than he is letting on.’

D’Artagnan agreed, ‘he was a bit evasive.’

As they approached the asylum the same guard was slouched against the door, he straightened up as Treville walked right up to him. The man glanced at d’Artagnan before looking back at the Captain.

‘I told ‘im they ain’t here,’ said the guard, pointing at d’Artagnan. ‘You can’t come in ‘ere.’

‘If they are not here,’ said Treville, ‘then you won’t mind us searching the place. You could enjoy laughing at us when we don’t find them.’

The guard shifted slightly, ‘you ain’t got no proof they’re ‘ere.’

The door behind the guard opened. A man in his fifties wearing smarter clothes than the guard stepped out. D’Artagnan recognised him as the governor. 

‘Messieurs,’ he said. ‘You are disturbing my patients.’

A couple of the Musketeers huffed at the description of the inmates as patients. They all knew the asylum held criminals as well as unfortunate souls who had been tricked into staying there by money-hungry relatives. 

‘I demand entry to search for my missing men,’ said Treville, standing closer to the governor than was strictly necessary. 

The governor, who was shorter than Treville, was forced to look up to maintain eye contact. 

‘You cannot come into my asylum. Your men are not here. I heard about the enquiries that were made earlier and I can assure you that your men are not here.’

The governor stepped back inside, closing the door quickly. But not quick enough to stop Treville putting his foot in the door and preventing it being closed. 

‘Get out of the way. I’ll have you-’

A shout from behind them interrupted the governor. They looked across to see Athos walking towards them. The man he was escorting caused the governor to open the door again.

MMMM

_A little earlier… ___

__Athos looked for the small boy outside the tavern, but he had disappeared. There was the usual mix of people milling about. Traders, and stallholders, women searching for the best quality food they could afford, their children clinging to their skirts, pickpockets watching for those that were unaware and could easily be preyed on. Athos observed them all, dismissing most as uninteresting. He was looking for something specific. He needed to find the sort of people who would have been in the tavern the previous night, the sort of people who could remember what had happened whose information could be bought for a couple of coins._ _

__An old woman smoking an intricately carved pipe held in a wrinkled bent hand drew his attention. She was sitting outside the tavern on a bench, a large cup of wine in her other hand. She was watching him, a knowing look in her eyes. Athos knew he was onto something as he approached her._ _

__‘Saw you earlier,’ she said as he stopped in front of her._ _

__‘I am looking for-’_ _

__‘Two of your friends. That handsome dark-skinned one and the one that likes himself too much.’_ _

__Athos accepted the description of his two friends with a nod._ _

__‘Unlucky last night, weren’t they?’_ _

__‘Did you see what happened?’_ _

__The old woman nodded. Athos dropped a few coins on the table in front of the woman, next to her cup of wine. She looked at the coins for a few seconds, puffing on her pipe._ _

__‘There’s a couple of men in there now,’ she nodded towards the tavern. ‘You might find it useful to listen to them… don’t talk to them… just listen. You’ll learn more if you just listen. They secret themselves in the corner and gloat.’’_ _

__Athos understood what the woman was implying, he tipped his hat in thanks before pushing his way into the tavern._ _

__There were a few people dotted around, half-hidden in the gloom. Athos knew the dim light would help him to remain inconspicuous, he would not be immediately recognised as a soldier._ _

__A pretty young woman approached him, her bodice a little too tight and low. He shook his head before she could proposition him. The woman seemed to sense he was not going to be persuaded and moved on to try her luck with some of the other daytime patrons._ _

__As his eyes became used to the low light Athos spotted what he was looking for. Two men dressed in the same manner that the asylum guard had been were sat in the corner of the tavern talking animatedly to each other. Athos slipped into the seat at the table next to them, a post providing him with some cover, although the men did not seem to have noticed him._ _

__Athos struggled to remain calm as he listened to the conversation between the two slightly inebriated men._ _

__‘The dark one, he can’t talk properly, he’s still bruised,’ chuckled one of the men._ _

__‘Yeah,’ said the other, ‘did you see the way he was trying to help his mate out when we were kicking him? You got him good across the back.’_ _

__The first man laughed again, ‘he went down like a ton of bricks.’_ _

__There was a pause as the men took a drink._ _

__‘How long are we going to keep them there?’ asked the second man. ‘The dark one must be thinking it’s something he’s done after what Marcel said to them. The talkative one got very defensive… for a bit.’_ _

__Both men laughed again, Athos took a steadying breath, trying to keep himself calm._ _

__‘I think Marcel wants to keep them for a bit longer. It wouldn’t surprise me if he started picking on more soldiers. You never know he might eventually get the ones that actually did swindle him out of that money.’_ _

__‘Well, they will get themselves into fights and get chucked out onto the streets… Where they’re easy pickings.’_ _

__The men laughed again. Athos decided he had heard enough. He got to his feet and pushed his cloak back enough to reveal his pauldron before turning to the table that the two guards were sat at. The men looked up at him, slack jawed. One of the men leaned back on his chair to the point that he was pushing himself into the wall of the tavern. Athos took a step forward, pulling himself up to his full height and looking down his nose at the two guards._ _

__‘You appear to enjoy picking on soldiers,’ he said, his tone outwardly calm. ‘Perhaps you would like to pick on me?’_ _

__The two men tried to form words but just ended up mumbling._ _

__‘You have two of my friends in your asylum. I would like them returned.’_ _

__The men were still stuttering, one of them was glancing around, looking for help that would not come. A silence had fallen on the tavern. The few people who were drinking had all stopped what they were doing and were watching the Musketeer confronting the asylum guards._ _

__Athos leaned forward and grabbed the smaller of the two men by the arm, hauling him up to stand. The man, who was several inches shorter than him cowered fearfully. Athos did not like seeing people scared of him unless the circumstances were right, and he very much considered the circumstances right at that moment. He glanced at the other man who looked on the verge of fainting. He did not consider the man a threat._ _

__‘Walk with me,’ said Athos before pulling the scared man along._ _

__As he left the tavern, he nodded his thanks to the old pipe-smoking woman who smiled sagely._ _

__MMMM_ _

__Porthos hated the moans of pain his actions were eliciting from Aramis, but he also knew if they were going to be there for some time they needed to be comfortable. He slowly dragged his semi-conscious friend to the back wall of the cell where he had piled up the straw. He arranged Aramis to lie along the wall with one of the blankets draped over his, his head on Porthos’ lap. Porthos pulled the other threadbare blanket over his shoulders._ _

__The now-familiar clang of the gate at the end of the corridor did not disturb Aramis and only caused Porthos to look towards the window in the door. He heard the footsteps of one of the guards. They peered through the window briefly, Porthos could not see the man properly so did not know which one it was. The man disappeared from view for a few seconds before the hinged flap at the bottom of the door was opened. Another hunk of dry bread and a cup were pushed through the flap._ _

__Porthos stared at the cup and bread as the flap was closed and bolted and the guard's steps retreated along the corridor. As the gate clanged again Porthos gently shook Aramis who moaned again and opened his eyes slowly, looking up at him._ _

__Porthos pointed at the door, Aramis followed his gaze._ _

__‘Good of them,’ said Aramis weakly._ _

__Porthos smiled and nodded. He slowly eased Aramis up to sit. He was forced to steady his friend for several seconds as his injuries made themselves known to him. Aramis waved him away once he was steady._ _

__Porthos retrieved the bread and water. He held the cup up to Aramis’ lips. It concerned him that Aramis did not attempt to take the cup. After a couple of sips, Aramis pulled away._ _

__‘You still need it more than me,’ he said._ _

__Porthos shook his head, ‘it’s not as bad,’ he said, annoyed that he still could not put much force into his voice._ _

__Aramis smiled, ‘you should still save your voice though,’ he said._ _

__Porthos pulled the bread apart and held out half to Aramis who managed to take it with his left hand. Porthos could tell Aramis was trying not to let his handshake as he reached out._ _

__‘I’m sorry,’ said Aramis after he had managed a few bites of the bread._ _

__‘What for?’ asked Porthos._ _

__‘I know you don’t like it when I get defensive on your behalf.’_ _

__Porthos huffed out a laugh, ‘it’s not like I’m able to defend myself… at the moment… at least not verbally.’_ _

__He was forced to take a sip of the dwindling cup of water._ _

__They ate in silence for a few more minutes. Porthos was forced to take his time, swallowing was still difficult for him and Aramis was having to make an effort each time he raised his hand to his mouth._ _

__‘I wonder how long they’ll search for us for?’ mused Aramis who has slumped to the side slightly, leaning on Porthos._ _

__‘We have to believe they’ll find us.’_ _

__Aramis chuckled, ‘ever the optimist.’_ _

__‘Better than the alternative.’_ _

__Porthos noticed that Aramis was shivering again, he realised he was as well. He knew they had not been locked up long enough to succumb to the lack of food or water or even the cold. If they were to die, it would take a while and be an uncomfortable, unwelcome journey._ _

__The gate clanged again._ _

__MMMM_ _

__D’Artagnan watched the governor's face go from one of shock at the apparent ill-treatment of his guard by Athos to anger at what a group of his guards had done._ _

__The contrite guard had explained that a small group of them had been involved in a card game with a couple of soldiers. They were cheated out of some money. The guards did not know which regiment the soldiers belonged to and had drunk too much to be able to properly remember what the men looked like. The guard told them that he was sure the soldiers responsible were not the ones that they had carried away the previous night and locked up in the asylum._ _

__‘And you locked them up in the river corridor?’ asked the governor. ‘No one goes down there anymore. Have you taken anyone else down there for your own gratification?’_ _

__The guard looked at the ground._ _

__The fuming governor looked at Treville, ‘I was told some of the young - and attractive - inmates had been assaulted. I do not need to go into detail,’ the governor glared at the guard. ‘I had not believed it, there is very little privacy in there.’_ _

__D’Artagnan started to wonder if he had been lied to earlier in the day when the guard had implied the governor was taking money to allow people to ogle the asylum patients._ _

__The guard winced as Athos tightened his grip on the man’s arm. D’Artagnan moved to stand on the man’s other side. Pierre and Luc, two of the Musketeers that had accompanied Treville moved to watch the guard that had been watching the door. Both guards looked ashamed and worried._ _

__‘I apologise for not believing you,’ said the governor. ‘I will help you find your men.’_ _

__He turned and walked back into the asylum. The Musketeers followed._ _

__The interior of the asylum was as grim as d’Artagnan had expected. It was not dissimilar to the Chatelet, but the inpatients were different. Where the prisoners in the Chatelet often had a haunted look or an angry expression those incarcerated in the asylum did not appear to even know where they were._ _

__Barred cell after barred cell contained raggedly dressed men and women who either stared off into the distance vacantly or maniacally repeated movements over and over again. One man was twitching and batting at some unseen adversary. A woman with scraggly hair was rocking back and forth her arms in the position they would be in if she was nursing a baby, she was looking at the imagined infant fondly._ _

__There were a few cries and moans from some of the unfortunate people. Some were babbling incomprehensibly whilst others were silent sentinels to the horror that had afflicted them enough to force them to spend their days locked away from society._ _

__‘I try to keep the place calm and quiet,’ said the governor. ‘My staff - most of them anyway - seem to empathise with the patients.’_ _

__He led them further into the building. The further they got the fewer people occupied each cell with most of them being restrained in some way._ _

__‘They are just too dangerous,’ said the governor sadly when he noticed d’Artagnan looking at them curiously. ‘I wish there was more we could do. There are a couple of priests and nuns that come and talk to them and read scripture which, I suppose, is better than nothing.’_ _

__They had reached a heavy door with a large metal locking device across it. The governor had to make an effort to move the metal which clanged loudly causing the closer patients to react with moans and cries of fear._ _

__‘I feel quite foolish, I’d noticed they were more agitated when I did my rounds early this morning and this afternoon. If the guards have been opening and closing this door it explains their heightened fear.’_ _

__The governor pushed the door open revealing a darker corridor lit by torches. The temperature was notably lower in the apparently empty corridor. They walked forward pausing at the first barred cell. A table in the cell was covered in the doublets, hats and weapons of the missing men._ _

__The governor looked at the guard that had been dragged after him by Athos._ _

__‘They’re in the last cell,’ said the guard without looking up._ _

__D’Artagnan grabbed the man by the arm and pushed him along the corridor until they were standing by the last door, a small barred window the only way to see inside. He pushed the man towards the door._ _

__‘Open it,’ he said firmly._ _

__The man pulled a ring of keys from his belt and found the correct one, he unlocked the rusty padlock and pulled it loose. D’Artagnan pushed the man out of the way, leaving him in the capable hands of Pierre and Luc. Athos was already pushing the bolts free before pulling the door open._ _

__Treville was holding one of the torches, he stepped into the room and moved out of the way of the door. D’Artagnan and Athos followed him. Athos moved to crouch by Porthos and Aramis._ _

__The two men were sitting on the floor, threadbare blankets around their shoulders were doing nothing to stop them both from shivering. The shivering was the least of their problems. It was obvious both men were injured._ _

__Aramis was covered with bruises, his shirt was torn revealing marks on his chest, his right hand was swollen with angry bruising across his fingers. He had a nasty graze accompanying bruising to his forehead and the side of his face._ _

__Porthos did not appear to be in quite as bad a state but was obviously fatigued, there were marks on his neck where it looked as though he had been strangled, his expression was one of discomfort._ _

__‘What kept you?’ asked Porthos, his voice quiet and cracked._ _

__Aramis looked at them and managed a smile and a nod._ _

__‘I am so sorry, messieurs,’ said the governor. ‘I will see to it that the men responsible are dealt with.’_ _

__Treville turned to the governor, ‘I will see to it that those responsible are dealt with,’ he said firmly._ _

__‘Can we go home now?’ asked Porthos._ _

__MMMM_ _

__It was late in the evening when Athos quietly pushed the door to the infirmary open and stepped in. He surveyed the room. D’Artagnan was sitting at the table, his legs propped up on another chair, he was asleep, arms folded across his chest._ _

__Aramis was lying either asleep or unconscious on one of the beds, he had been stripped of his filthy clothes and was being washed by Porthos who was busy wringing out the cloth in a bucket of murky water._ _

__Porthos had managed to get himself clean and changed, despite the bruises across his back where he had been hit by the guards._ _

__‘Has he been awake again?’ asked Athos as he pulled a chair closer and sat beside his friends._ _

__‘Yeah,’ said Porthos, his voice still weak, ‘he was focused. He’ll be fine.’_ _

__Athos nodded. He watched Porthos for a few seconds trying to work out what was on his friend's mind._ _

__‘You know this was not your fault… Or his,’ Athos said with a nod towards Aramis. ‘The guards had been cheated by some soldiers and wanted some revenge.’_ _

__Porthos looked at him as he finished cleaning Aramis up. Athos helped him to lay another blanket over the sleeping Musketeer._ _

__‘They were going to keep attacking soldiers,’ continued Athos, ‘you were just easy targets after your altercation in the tavern.’_ _

__Porthos looked away saying, ‘they deliberately wound him up so that they could justify beating us. They knew I couldn’t speak for myself at the time and guessed that he would try to defend me.’_ _

__Athos nodded, ‘the talkative guard told us everything. I think he is hoping to get a more lenient punishment… He will not.’_ _

__Athos could not hide a smile when Porthos nodded approvingly._ _

__‘I can’t believe,’ said Porthos, ‘that we were only there a few hours. It felt a lot longer…’_ _

__A slight movement from Aramis drew their attention._ _

__‘You were optimistic that we’d be found though,’ said Aramis before wincing as he moved again._ _

__They helped Aramis to sit up a little before Porthos held out a cup of water to the injured man. Athos got the impression Porthos was pleased when Aramis took the cup with a relatively steady hand._ _

__‘You were probably lucky that your altercation in the tavern was witnessed,’ said Athos. ‘We found a few witnesses and were able to put together the bits and pieces of information to find you.’_ _

__‘I’m glad about that,’ said Aramis._ _

__‘So am I,’ agreed Porthos._ _

__It had been a close call, but they were back where they belonged, Porthos hated to think how long they could have been trapped in the hellish place if their captors had not been so pleased with themselves and decided to talk about it in the tavern. The consequences of the guards gloating were now going to have a very detrimental effect on them as they languished in the Chatelet, probably getting the same treatment that had been meted out to his friend._ _

__Porthos did not feel sorry for them._ _

__The End._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it. :-)


End file.
